Remain
by TolkienGirl
Summary: Dis does not know quite how to say goodbye. (Pre-canon; Thorin, Fili, and Kili set out on the quest. Minor foreshadowing for what is to come. Angsty because...YES).


**A/N: Suffice to say that I have seen ****_The Battle of The Five Armies, _****and I am at this time incapable of discussing my feels. Such is their magnitude. As a dear friend who came with me to see the film said, in the words of Legolas, "For me the grief is still too near."**

**But for now, I shall assuage my grief by writing wistful fanfic...please enjoy and review. :)**

_"So wise so young, they say do never live long." - Richard III, Act III Scene I_

Dis does not know quite how to say goodbye. Her sons are eager and bold and nervous and Thorin is grave and proud and expectant. Dis plaits her braids and untangles the laces of Kili's boots (one last time) and fastens Fili's scabbard belt, but she does not quite know how to say goodbye.

In the rose-gray light of morning, she stands on the wide flat stones before the door and fingers the cool roundness of the stone she has kept since Erebor.

Fili is speaking with Thorin, but Kili is lingering beside her. She lays a hand on his arm and draws him to her.

"You take this," she whispers, soft and hoarse in his ear. His lips shape the word engraved on the stone, and his eyes meet hers, dark and clear, like his father's.

"I'll not forget," he says, taking her face in his hands. (_She does not remember how or when he became so tall)_.

"You promised," she murmurs, and she would shut her eyes if she was not afraid that there is not enough time to memorize him. "You promised, Kili."

He presses his lips on her cheek, and his arms are fast around her. "Fili will look after me," he says, and he is smiling, but she is his mother and she has not missed the hitch in his voice. "Fili always looks after me."

Over his shoulder she can see her eldest, and the early sunlight is bright upon his hair. His eyes are downcast, but his face is turned towards his uncle.

He will be king, this boy of hers. Fili will be king, and if her brother does not do his duty he will be father and brother all at once.

His shoulders are straight, and she tries to tell herself that they are strong enough for the burdens he must bear.

_(He would not have asked for this. Fili used to kneel beside her in the garden, quick fingers plucking weeds and coaxing stubborn shoots to life—Fili would have stayed, and been happy. But Fili always looks after his brother, and his uncle, and the people who will one day be his charge—_)

Dis does not know how to say goodbye.

"I know your road lies in the wild," she says, tilting her face up so that her forehead may meet Kili's. "But you and your brother must write to me, when you can. If you can."

Kili's face crinkles in a grin. "Will you be able to read it?"

She smiles because she must, because he is her baby and he cannot see her cry. "I've seen worse than your scrawling. Your father wrote with the poorest hand I've known."

His eyes are searching hers, the stone is in his hand, and oh, Mahal, he cannot see her cry. "Your uncle is waiting," she says.

He hugs her and laughs, and she laughs too, though it is, perhaps, harder than anything else. He runs after Thorin, pack thumping at his back, and she watches him, wondering if he will ever remember to braid his hair.

Wondering if he really will come back to her.

"Mother?"

It is Fili, and she cries then, a little, into the fur collar of his coat because he has his father's hair and her brother's features, but his eyes are his own and he has always understood.

"My son," she breathes. "Your father would be so proud."

"Are you proud?" And as they step apart, his hands have clasped in hers, his fingers clever and strong and reassuring.

"Of course I am." The smile comes more easily now, because Dis knows she is not lying. "Of you and your brother. You bring hope to our people."

There is a flicker of something like pain in her eldest's eyes, but it is gone in an instant and he draws her close once more. "And you keep that hope with you." His eyes are earnest, tender. "I know my brother has made you a promise. Now I ask that you make one to me. You must not worry, all the days that we are gone. You must not fear for us."

"Oh, lad," she murmurs, and her heart is heavy. "Oh, Fili. I can't quite promise that."

His laugh is half-bitten off. He is about to speak, to say something more, when Thorin's voice rumbles, "Fili. We must go."

And his head lifts, high and proud, and he hears his uncle's voice, heeds his uncle's call, as he has always done.

They walk side by side, and match their strides as they have matched their lives, without even knowing it.

And Dis whispers her goodbyes to herself.


End file.
